Chapter 7 - The Ambush at the Manor
On January second, Janice broke her silence through Gerald’s corporate secretary. A formal summons was issued for a “Mandatory Holloway Family Resolution Conference” at Janice and Gerald’s suburban estate.
Kimberly had sent an email to Samuel’s work address: *Be there at two o'clock if you ever want Mom to look at you again. Bring the swab results, or don’t bother showing your face.*
When Samuel and I pulled into the sweeping circular driveway of the stone-faced manor, Janice’s Mercedes and Kimberly’s brand-new convertible sat outside. They had staged the gathering like a courtroom tribunal.
Inside the cavernous living room, Janice sat poised on a high-backed armchair, an open leather folder resting on her lap. Gerald stood by the limestone fireplace, his hands thrust deep into his slacks, projecting an aura of domineering authority. Kimberly was perched on the sofa, scrolling lazily on her phone while her twelve-year-old daughter Meline tried on diamond charm bracelets at the coffee table.
“You’re late,” Janice said coldly as we stepped across the foyer. Her eyes swept over us, noticing immediately that Fiona was not present. “Where is the child? I specifically told you to bring her for verification.”
“Fiona is at a friend’s house,” Samuel replied, his tone devoid of warmth. “You will never be in the same room with my daughter again.”
Gerald scoffed loudly, stepping toward the center of the room. “Drop the posturing, Samuel. We’re your parents. We took care of you, we built this family’s prestige, and we will not allow our heritage to be diluted by questions of legitimacy. Did you bring the laboratory envelope, or are you still pretending your wife is blameless?”
Before Samuel could answer, the heavy front door clicked open behind us.
The tapping sound of a wooden cane echoed sharply against the marble floor. Janice’s haughty expression instantly stiffened as Agnes entered, accompanied by Arthur Vance carrying a thick leather briefcase.
“Mother?” Gerald blinked, caught entirely off guard. “What are you doing here? Arthur, this is a private family matter.”
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“Nonsense, Gerald,” Agnes replied smoothly, advancing into the room with sovereign grace. “Family matters are precisely what Arthur is paid to manage.”
***
